"That's all right, then. Just telephone down and find out who is supposed to be occupying this suite."
The waiter returned in a minute or two.
"Mrs. Cortlandt Van Snyder of Detroit."
Mr. Carter became very thoughtful.
"I wonder now. Is this Mrs. Van Snyder an accomplice, or is she-"
He left the sentence unfinished.
"Hear any noise from inside?" he asked abruptly.
"Not a thing. But the doors fit well. One couldn't hope to hear much."
Mr. Carter made up his mind suddenly.
"I don't like this business. We're going in. Got the master key?"
"Of course, sir."
"Call up Evans and Clydesly."
Reinforced by the other two men, they advanced towards the door of the suite. It opened noiselessly when the first man inserted his key.
They found themselves in a small hall. To the right was the open door of a bathroom, and in front of them was the sitting room. On the left was a closed door and from behind it a faint sound-rather like an asthmatic pug-could be heard. Mr. Carter pushed the door open and entered.
The room was a bedroom, with a big double bed ornately covered with a bedspread of rose and gold. On it, bound hand and foot, with her mouth secured by a gag and her eyes almost starting out of her head with pain and rage, was a middle aged fashionably dressed woman.
On a brief order from Mr. Carter, the other men had covered the whole suite. Only Tommy and his Chief had entered the bedroom. As he leant over the bed and strove to unfasten the knots, Carter's eyes went roving round the room in perplexity. Save for an immense quantity of truly American luggage, the room was empty. There was no sign of the Russian or Tuppence.
In another minute the waiter came hurrying in, and reported that the other rooms were also empty. Tommy went to the window, only to draw back and shake his head. There was no balcony-nothing but a sheer drop to the street below.
"Certain it was this room they entered?" asked Carter peremptorily.
"Sure. Besides-" The man indicated the woman on the bed.
With the aid of a pen knife, Carter parted the scarf that was half choking her, and it was at once clear that whatever her sufferings, they had not deprived Mrs. Cortlandt Van Snyder of the use of her tongue.
When she had exhausted her first indignation, Mr. Carter spoke mildly.
"Would you mind telling me exactly what happened-from the beginning?"
"I guess I'll sue the Hotel for this. It's a perfect outrage. I was just looking for my bottle of 'Killagrippe' when a man sprang on me from behind and broke a little glass bottle right under my nose, and before I could get my breath I was all in. When I came to I was lying here, all trussed up, and goodness knows what's happened to my jewels. He's gotten the lot, I guess."
"Your jewels are quite safe, I fancy," said Mr. Carter drily. He wheeled round and picked up something from the floor. "You were standing just where I am when he sprang upon you?"
"That's so," assented Mrs. Van Snyder.
It was a fragment of thin glass that Mr. Carter had picked up. He sniffed it and handed it to Tommy.
"Ethyl Chloride," he murmured. "Instant anaesthetic. But it only keeps one under for a moment or two. Surely he must still have been in the room when you came to, Mrs. Van Snyder?"
"Isn't that just what I'm telling you? Oh! it drove me half crazy to see him getting away and me not able to move or do anything at all."
"Getting away?" said Mr. Carter sharply. "Which way?"
"Through that door." She pointed to one in the opposite wall. "He had a girl with him, but she seemed kind of limp as though she'd had a dose of the same dope."
Carter looked a question at his henchman.
"Leads into the next suite, sir. But double doors-supposed to be bolted each side."
Mr. Carter examined the door carefully. Then he straightened himself up and turned towards the bed.
"Mrs. Van Snyder," he said quietly. "Do you still persist in your assertion that the man went out this way?"
"Why, certainly he did. Why shouldn't he?"
"Because the door happens to be bolted on this side," said Mr. Carter drily. He rattled the handle as he spoke.
A look of the utmost astonishment spread over Mrs. Van Snyder's face.
"Unless someone bolted the door behind him," said Mr. Carter, "he cannot have gone out that way."
He turned to Evans who had just entered the room.
"Sure they're not anywhere in this suite? Any other communicating doors?"
"No, sir, and I'm quite sure."
Carter turned his gaze this way and that about the room. He opened the big hanging wardrobe, looked under the bed, up the chimney and behind all the curtains. Finally, struck by a sudden idea, and disregarding Mrs. Van Snyder's shrill protests, he opened the large wardrobe trunk and rummaged swiftly in the interior.
Suddenly Tommy, who had been examining the communicating door, gave an exclamation.
"Come here, sir, look at this. They did go this way."
The bolt had been very cleverly filed through, so close to the socket that the join was hardly perceptible.
"The door won't open because it's locked on the other side," explained Tommy.
In another minute they were out in the corridor again and the waiter was opening the door of the adjoining suite with his pass key. This suite was untenanted. When they came to the communicating door, they saw that the same plan had been adopted. The bolt had been filed through, and the door was locked, the key having been removed. But nowhere in the suite was there any sign of Tuppence or the fairbearded Russian, and there was no other communicating door, only the one on the corridor.
"But I'd have seen them come out," protested the waiter. "I couldn't have helped seeing them. I can take my oath they never did."
"Damn it all," cried Tommy. "They can't have vanished into thin air!"
Carter was calm again now, his keen brain working.
"Telephone down and find who had this suite last, and when."
Evans, who had come with them, leaving Clydesly on guard in the other suite, obeyed. Presently he raised his head from the telephone.
"An invalid French lad, M. Paul de Varez. He had a Hospital Nurse with him. They left this morning."
An exclamation burst from the other Secret Service man, the waiter.
He had gone deathly pale.
"The invalid boy-the Hospital Nurse," he stammered. "I-they passed me in the passage. I never dreamed-I had seen them so often before."
"Are you sure they were the same?" cried Mr. Carter. "Are you sure, man? You looked at them well?"
The man shook his head.
"I hardly glanced at them. I was waiting, you understand, on the alert for the others, the man with the fair beard and the girl."
"Of course," said Mr. Carter, with a groan. "They counted on that."
With a sudden exclamation, Tommy stooped down and pulled something out from under the sofa. It was a small rolled up bundle of black. Tommy unrolled it and several articles fell out. The outside wrapper was the long black coat Tuppence had worn that day. Inside was her walking dress, her hat and a long fair beard.
"It's clear enough now," he said bitterly. "They've got her-got Tuppence. That Russian devil has given us the slip. The Hospital Nurse and the boy were accomplices. They stayed here for a day or two to get the Hotel people accustomed to their presence. The man must have realized at lunch that he was trapped and proceeded to carry out his plan. Probably he counted on the room next door being empty since it was when he fixed the bolts. Anyway he managed to silence both the woman next door and Tuppence, brought her in here, dressed her in boy's clothes, altered his own appearance, and walked out as bold as brass. The clothes must have been hidden ready. But I don't quite see how he managed Tuppence's acquiescence."
"I can see," said Mr. Carter. He picked up a little shining piece of steel from the carpet. "That's a fragment of a hypodermic needle. She was dop
ed."
"My God!" groaned Tommy. "And he's got clear away."
"We won't know that," said Carter quickly. "Remember every exit is watched."
"For a man and a girl. Not for a Hospital Nurse and an invalid boy.
They'll have left the Hotel by now."
Such, on inquiry, proved to be the case. The nurse and her patient had driven away in a taxi some five minutes earlier.
"Look here, Beresford," said Mr. Carter. "For God's sake, pull yourself together. You know that I won't leave a stone unturned to find that girl.
I'm going back to my office at once and in less than five minutes every resource of the department will be at work. We'll get them yet."
"Will you, sir? He's a clever devil, that Russian. Look at the cunning of this coup of his. But I know you'll do your best. Only-pray God it's not too late. They've got it in for us badly."
He left the Blitz Hotel and walked blindly along the street, hardly knowing where he was going. He felt completely paralyzed. Where to search? What to do?
He went into the Green Park, and dropped down upon a seat. He hardly noticed when someone else sat down at the opposite end, and was quite startled to hear a well known voice.
"If you please, sir, if I might make so bold-"
Tommy looked up.
"Hullo, Albert," he said dully.
"I know all about it, sir-but don't take on so."
"Don't take on-" He gave a short laugh. "Easily said, isn't it?"
"Ah, but think, sir. Blunt's Brilliant Detectives! Never beaten. And if you'll excuse my saying so, I happen to overhear what you and the Missus was ragging about this morning. Mr. Poirot, and his little grey cells. Well, sir, why not use your little grey cells, and see what you can do?"
"It's easier to use your little grey cells in fiction than it is in fact, my boy."
"Well," said Albert stoutly, "I don't believe anybody could put the Missus out, for good and all. You know what she is sir, just like one of those rubber bones you buy for little dorgs-guaranteed indestructible."
"Albert," said Tommy, "you cheer me."
"Then what about using your little grey cells, sir?"
"You're a persistent lad, Albert. Playing the fool has served us pretty well up to now. We'll try it again. Let us arrange our facts neatly, and with method. At ten minutes past two exactly, our quarry enters the lift.
Five minutes later we speak to the lift man, and having heard what he says, we also go up to the third floor. At, say, nineteen minutes past two we enter the suite of Mrs. Van Snyder. And now, what significant fact strikes us?"
There was a pause, no significant fact striking either of them. "There wasn't such a thing as a trunk in the room, was there?" asked Albert, his eyes lighting suddenly.
"Mon ami," said Tommy. "You do not understand the psychology of an American woman who has just returned from Paris. There were, I should say, about nineteen trunks in the room."
"What I meantersay is, a trunk's a handy thing if you've got a dead body about you want to get rid of-not that she is dead, for a minute."
"We searched the only two that were big enough to contain a body.
What is the next fact in chronological order?"
"You've missed one out-when the Missus and the bloke dressed up as a Hospital Nurse passed the waiter in the passage."
"It must have been just before we came up in the lift," said Tommy.
"They must have had a narrow escape of meeting us face to face.
Pretty quick work, that. I-"
He stopped.
"What is it, sir?"
"Be silent, mon ami. I have the kind of little idea-colossal, stupendousthat always comes sooner or later to Hercule Poirot. But if so-if that's it-Oh! Lord, I hope I'm in time."
He raced out of the Park, Albert hard on his heels, inquiring breathlessly as he ran. "What's up, sir? I don't understand."
"That's all right," said Tommy. "You're not supposed to. Hastings never did. If your grey cells weren't of a very inferior order to mine, what fun do you think I should get out of this game? I'm talking damned rot-but I can't help it. You're a good lad, Albert. You know what Tuppence is worth-she's worth a dozen of you and me."
Thus talking breathlessly as he ran, Tommy reentered the portals of the Blitz. He caught sight of Evans, and drew him aside with a few hurried words. The two men entered the lift, Albert with them.
"Third floor," said Tommy.
At the door of No. 318 they paused. Evans had a pass key, and used it forthwith. Without a word of warning, they walked straight into Mrs.
Van Snyder's bedroom. The lady was still lying on the bed, but was now arrayed in a becoming negligee. She stared at them in surprise.
"Pardon my failure to knock," said Tommy, pleasantly. "But I want my wife. Do you mind getting off that bed?"
"I guess you've gone plumb crazy," cried Mrs. Van Snyder.
Tommy surveyed her thoughtfully, his head on one side.
"Very artistic," he pronounced. "But it won't do. We looked under the bed-but not in it. I remember using that hiding-place myself when young. Horizontally across the bed, underneath the bolster. And that nice wardrobe trunk all ready to take away the body in later. But we were a bit too quick for you just now. You'd had time to dope Tuppence, put her under the bolster, and be gagged and bound by your accomplices next door, and I'll admit we swallowed your story all right for the moment. But when one came to think it out-with order and method-impossible to drug a girl, dress her in boy's clothes, gag and bind another woman, and change one's own appearance-all in five minutes. Simply a physical impossibility. The Hospital Nurse and the boy were to be a decoy. We were to follow that trail, and Mrs. Van Snyder was to be a pitied victim. Just help the lady off the bed, will you, Evans? You have automatic? Good."
Protesting shrilly, Mrs. Van Snyder was hauled from her place of repose. Tommy tore off the coverings and the bolster.
There, lying horizontally across the top of the bed was Tuppence, her eyes closed, and her face waxen. For a moment, Tommy felt a sudden dread, then he saw the slight rise and fall of her breast. She was drugged, not dead.
He turned to Albert and Evans.
"And now, Messieurs," he said dramatically. "The final coup!"
With a swift unexpected gesture, he seized Mrs. Van Snyder by her elaborately dressed hair. It came off in his hand.
"As I thought," said Tommy. "No. 16!"
It was about half an hour later when Tuppence opened her eyes and found a doctor and Tommy bending over her.
Over the events of the next quarter of an hour a decent veil had better be drawn, but after that period the doctor departed with the assurance that all was now well.
"Mon ami, Hastings," said Tommy fondly. "How I rejoice that you are still alive."
"Have we got No. 16?"
"Once more have I crushed him like an egg shell-In other words, Carter's got him. The little grey cells! By the way, I'm raising Albert's wages." "Tell me all about it."
Tommy gave her a spirited narrative, with certain omissions.
"Weren't you half frantic about me?" asked Tuppence faintly.
"Not particularly. One must keep calm, you know."
"Liar!" said Tuppence. "You look quite haggard still."
"Well, perhaps I was just a little worried, darling. I say-we're going to give it up now, aren't we?"
"Certainly we are."
Tommy gave a sigh of relief.
"I hoped you'd be sensible. After a shock like this-"
"It's not the shock. You know I never mind shocks."
"A rubber bone-indestructible," murmured Tommy.
"I've got something better to do," continued Tuppence. "Something ever so much more exciting. Something I've never done before."
Tommy looked at her with lively apprehension.
"I forbid it, Tuppence."
"You can't," said Tuppence. "It's a law of nature."
"What are you talking about, Tuppence?"
"I'm
talking," said Tuppence, "of Our Baby. Wives don't whisper nowadays. They shout. OUR BABY! Tommy, isn't everything marvellous?"
The Mysterious Mr. Quin *1930*
Chapter 1
THE COMING OF MR QUIN
It was New Year's Eve.
The elder members of the house party at Royston were assembled in the big hall.
Mr Satterthwaite was glad that the young people had gone to bed. He was not fond of young people in herds. He thought them uninteresting and crude. They lacked subtlety and as life went he had become increasingly fond of subtleties.
Mr Satterthwaite was sixty-two - a little bent, dried-up man with a peering face oddly elf-like, and an intense and inordinate interest in other people's lives. All his life, so to speak, he had sat in the front row of the stalls watching various dramas of human nature unfold before him. His ræle had always been that of the onlooker. Only now, with old age holding him in its clutch, he found himself increasingly critical of the drama submitted to him. He demanded now something a little out of the common.
There was no doubt that he had a flair for these things. He knew instinctively when the elements of drama were at hand. Like a war horse, he sniffed the scent. Since his arrival at Royston this afternoon, that strange inner sense of his had stirred and bid him be ready. Something interesting was happening or going to happen.
The house party was not a large one. There was Tom Evesham their genial good-humoured host and his serious political wife who had been before her marriage Lady Laura Keene. There was Sir Richard Conway, soldier, traveler and sportsman, there were six or seven young people whose names Mr Satterthwaite had not grasped and there were the Portals.
It was the Portals who interested Mr Satterthwaite.
He had never met Alex Portal before, but he knew all about him. Had known his father and his grandfather. Alex Portal ran pretty true to type. He was a man of close on forty, fair-haired, and blue-eyed like all the Portals, fond of sport, good at games, devoid of imagination.
Nothing unusual about Alex Portal. The usual good sound English stock.
But his wife was different. She was, Mr Satterthwaite knew, an Australian. Portal had been out in Australia two years ago, had met her out there and had married her and brought her home. She had never been to England previous to her marriage. All the same, she wasn't at all like any other Australian woman Mr Satterthwaite had met.
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